


let go

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Watersports, harley pisses, thats all it is, thats it, they fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23739121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Slowly, almost carefully, he softly asks, “Where are you going with this?”“I don’t—” Peter stops, averts his gaze to the floor next to Harley’s head. “I don’t know, really, I guess I was just curious about what that might be like, and you just reminded me of it, and I thought that, maybe, y’know... maybe you’d wanna try it. Or maybe not and I look like an idiot bringing this up, especially when we’re literally just dry humping on your bedroom floor, in which case—”
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 152
Collections: Anonymous





	let go

“P-Peter...”

Skimming lips along the column of Harley’s neck, Peter lets out a low hum. “Yeah?”

Harley whines, the sound high in his throat as he lifts his hips, only to immediately press them back down, whine shifting into a close mouthed whimper. “Honey, I—I gotta—baby, I gotta go.”

“Go?” Peter repeats, frowning in confusion as he pulls back a bit, the remote—which is what they had been wrestling for in the first place, before Peter pinned Harley to the carpet with a victorious shout and Harley had practically  growled before pulling Peter down into a desperate kiss—laying forgotten on the floor beside them, pushed away and no longer even a blimp on their radars. “I thought we were just planning to watch movies tonight. Go where?”

“No, I gotta—” Harley stops, gasps a bit as his hips twitch up again, only for his thighs to clamp shut, muscles going taut as he bites back another whimper. “Pete, I need to pee, like, really bad, okay? Like, really,  really bad.”

Peter’s eyes flick down and up again, seeing the way Harley’s features are pinched, even with the haze of pleasure in his eyes, the way his lower lip is bitten red and his hands are flexing where Peter has them pressed to the floor. “Oh,” he murmurs, understanding dawning on him, but he doesn’t move yet, gnaws on the inside of his cheek and ponders for a moment before saying, “You know, I, um...I might have been, uh—been perusing some... some mature, um—mature content, y’know, and I saw that there’s this... I don’t wanna say fetish because I feel like that’s just a weird word, but—but there are people who get off on the—on the desperation and the—the relief of... of  going, I guess, and, um, I...”

Harley is looking up at Peter with something unreadable in his eyes, entire body tense with the intensity of holding in his full bladder but curiosity too strong to ignore. Slowly, almost carefully, he softly asks, “Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t—” Peter stops, averts his gaze to the floor next to Harley’s head. “I don’t  know , really, I guess I was just curious about what that might be like, and you just reminded me of it, and I thought that, maybe, y’know... maybe you’d wanna try it. Maybe you don’t want to stop and you don’t want to hold it. Or maybe not and I look like an idiot bringing this up, especially when we’re literally just dry humping on your bedroom floor, in which case—”

“Peter, sweetheart,” Harley cuts in, and that strain is in his voice still, but he looks kind of soft in the eyes, too. “I told you that I’m open to try almost anything once, you just gotta tell me about it, so don’t think you look like an idiot when you know I wouldn’t think that, okay? And, I mean, I’ve never thought about... about that, really, but I don’t really want you to stop, and there’s no harm in giving it a shot, right? See how it goes, if I like it.”

Peter looks back at Harley, features a bit flushed and red. “Really?”

Once again, Harley presses his hips up against Peter’s, letting out a groan at both the friction and the pressure in his bladder, legs parting wide to let Peter fall into the cradle of his thighs, pressing them even closer together. “Really,” he breathes, wriggling his body a bit, breath hitching. “Pete—”

At the desperate sort of tinge to Harley’s words, Peter dives right back in, scraping lips and teeth and tongue up Harley’s neck as he rolls their hips together in a steady sort of rhythm, able to feel the outline of each other’s dicks through their sweatpants. Harley tips his head back with a moan, hands clenching and unclenching trembling fingers as he melts in to the carpet and feels the electricity between them, swallows roughly as Peter pushes more weight down against his bladder and pushes away the ebbing panic by reminding himself that this is okay, this is something he’s going to try, and if it just feels weird or gross, then he’ll know it’s just not for him.

But the pressure is growing and his desperation for friction is growing, too, and he’s pushing up to meet each roll of Peter’s hips but he suddenly needs so much more. “Peter,” he whines. “Sweetheart, can we—can—roll over? Please?”

“You wanna be on top?” Peter asks, practically purrs it against the underside of Harley’s jaw, gives a particularly hard roll of his hips to draw out a loud moan from Harley. “That’s what you want, baby? You wanna be on top?”

“Peter,” Harley pleads, slides his hands down to interlock their fingers and presses his knees into Peter’s sides. “Please, please, can we—”

With a final kiss to the hinge of Harley’s jaw, Peter does as asked, rolls them over until his back is pressed to the floor and Harley is straddling him, their noses brushing together in their close proximity, and there’s a moment where all they do is look at one another with wide eyes. “Pretty,” Peter murmurs, eyes flickering over Harley’s slightly flushed features. Harley whines, grinds down, and promptly melts at the friction, presses his face to Peter’s neck as he starts to helplessly rut against Peter, their dicks lined up just right to provide the best feeling, bodies pressed so close that there’s a constant pressure against his bladder, and it makes sense, what Peter said—the desperation, the way his whole body is trying to both go tense and loosen up at the same time, the throbbing in his bladder adding on to the throbbing want in his groin. He doesn’t dislike it, feels that desperation building as he grinds against Peter, breaths coming out in hitching, high pitched gasps, only melting even further when Peter presses a hand to the small of Harley’s back and brings the other up to run through his hair, fingers snagging on tangles every once in a while, while he murmurs, “Relax, baby. You’re doing so good, Harley, you feel so good.”

Harley digs his nails into the fabric of Peter’s sweatshirt and claws at the carpet and can’t seem to get enough, keeps quickening the speed of his hips for more. His bladder is aching and he knows what Peter said but he’s still trying to hold it, trying to keep it in even as it starts to hurt. “Oh, fuck, b-baby, I—I need to—”

“Do it,” Peter says, uses his hand on Harley’s back to press him down, creating more friction and more pressure to Harley’s bladder as he does so. The noise Harley makes is loud and pleading. “I want you to do it, Harley. Let go. Just let go.”

A rough gasp rips itself from Harley’s throat as the gates seem to open, his hips snapping forward and back in sharp motions as his bladder gives a final squeeze and then starts to unload, piss flowing out of him suddenly, so much of it that it instantly soaks through his boxers and his pants and quickly begins to dampen Peter’s sweats, a warm sort of wetness that seems to make the friction feel ten times better as he keeps grinding down. “Peter,” he says, breathy and almost overwhelmed but not in a bad way, clutching Peter’s shoulder with one hand while the other digs fingernails into the carpet, using the weak grip as a little bit of leverage while he moves and pisses and still wants more. “God, P- Peter—”

Peter’s head falls back against the floor with a moan, his hips pistoning up into the warmth, his eyes dark and his jaw slightly dropped as he brings his hands down to Harley’s hips to move them together even better, lining them up and pressing them close as he breathes, “O-Oh, oh fuck, oh fuck, Harley, that feels—oh shit—”

The relief of letting go mixed with the pleasure of fucking his hips down against Peter at the same time makes Harley’s mind feel hazy, his eyes glazing over as little plea’s and whimpers fall from his barely parted lips. He isn’t even aware of what he’s saying, his heart thudding so loudly in his own ears that everything else is too muffled to comprehend, but Peter hears him clear as day, listens to every little, “Fuck,” and, “Pete, please.”

It goes straight to Peter’s cock, takes over all rational thought as he rolls them back over and presses Harley against the carpet and yanks his sweatpants down until they’re past his ass and pushes Harley’s down, too, just enough for Peter to reach between them and pull them both out of soaked through boxers, the material dark with piss and beads of precum, and maybe it shouldn’t be hot but god, it is, it makes something curl and twist in the pit of Peter’s stomach, heat licking its way up his spine like flames, and he wraps his fingers around both of them, fingers just long enough to keep a good grip on them, the fluids on them making the glide easy and so, so good.

Harley throws his head back with a gasp, another dribble of piss coming out as he presses up, fucking into Peter’s fist with a choked out moan, digging his nails into Peter’s biceps. “Oh god, oh my god, that’s—sweetheart, fuck, holy shit.”

“You look so good,” Peter murmurs, biting at Harley’s jaw, and it’s not often that they’re like this, not often that Peter takes the reigns, his heightened senses making him so sensitive to touch that he needs to be taken care of during sex more often than not, but sometimes, like today, he pushes through that, wants to be in control, and it’s worth it, so beyond worth it to see that needy haze in Harley’s eyes, the open mouthed panting and the way he keeps begging for more, for Peter to do something. So, he does something, tightens his grip just enough, jerks the both of them off and nips at Harley’s skin with his teeth, his jaw and his neck and ducking his head to clamp down on his collarbones. He means to say, “You feel incredible and I want to see you cum,” but what he gets out is, “You feel—oh my god—“ because Harley isn’t done yet, apparently, more piss dribbling from the tip of his cock and puddling on his stomach and he knows most people would think this is disgusting but Peter just moans as he keeps jerking them both off, purposefully bringing his hand high enough to catch some of the urine in his palm and groaning at how it feels for the warm fluid to make it an even smoother glide. “Oh my god, Harley.”

“‘M so—“ Harry stops, pushes up again and whines. “I’m so—so close, sweetheart, fuck.”

Peter noses at the hinge of Harley’s jaw, picks up the speed of his hand. “So am I,” he rasps into Harley’s ear, before taking the lobe between his teeth, lightly biting down on it just to hear the way Harley whimpers. “Wanna see you cum, baby.”

Harley pants, open mouthed and flushed, against Peter’s temple, hips rutting forward helplessly, changing after the drag of skin on skin and the tightness of Peter’s fingers holding them together. There’s a tingle at the base of his spine and his stomach is twisting with pleasure and he can’t help the noises his makes, breathy whimpers and whines as he digs his nails into Peter’s skin. “Peter,” he says with a moan, unable to make his tongue cooperate with forming any other words.

“Almost there,” Peter practically growls, the sound low in his throat and almost animalistic. He moves his hand even faster and starts to roll his hips into it to create a constant, overwhelming friction that makes Harley gasp and writhe. “C’mon, Harls,” Peter murmurs, pressing his mouth to Harley’s cheek and dragging his lips over to kiss him messily, sloppily, all spit and tongue. “Cum.”

The way that Harley’s gut swoops at the command makes him groan, head rolling back against the floor as he sucks in sharp, quick breaths and hangs there in his pleasure for a moment, the heat within him building and building until, with a twist of Peter’s wrist and a bite to the side of his neck, Harley shudders, calls out a sudden, “Fuck— Peter—!” and then he falls over the edge, mouth open around a babble of high pitch noises that he can’t hold back as his hips jump and he cums hard over Peter’s hand.

Peter lets out a moan at the sight of Harley losing it, snaps his hips forward two, three more times, and then follows suit, cumming suddenly with a drawn out groan rumbling through his chest. It seems to last forever, both of them riding the waves of their highs, until they finally start to fall back to reality, panting and sweaty and covered in a mixture of fluids. “Wow,” Peter rasps.

“Yeah,” Harley agrees breathlessly, letting his eyes flutter shut as a small smile pulls at his lips. “That was... that was really good. Like,  really good. I didn’t think that was gonna be that good.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, leaning up with his weight resting on his elbows, hovering over Harley with his own crooked sort of grin. “You liked it?”

Harley nods, reaches a hand up to pull Peter down into a lazy sort of kiss, lips moving together languidly, no longer rushing through their movements. When they pull apart, they don’t fully separate, Harley reaching out to envelope Peter in a sticky sort of embrace. “Did you like it?”

Peter nods against Harley’s shoulder. “Yeah, I did. I mean, logically, it was probably kinda gross, and cleaning up is gonna be a nightmare, but in the moment, it was—it was really good. Really hot.”

For a moment, Harley doesn’t respond, gives the both of them a moment to really relax into one another. Then, he asks, “Wanna do it again?”


End file.
